The Slythindor
by TheEpicPenguin
Summary: AU: What if Severus Snape had been sorted into Gryffindor? All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.


_Prologue_

_Awaiting the war_

_With his murmured spell, the boat slowed in its glide across the water. He stood and glanced back towards the castle in the distance. The school's lighted windows were winking merrily in the velvety blackness, its reflection dancing on the glassy surface of the lake behind him. With Salazar departed as of last night, the whole of Hogwarts seemed to have breathed a sigh of relief. _

_But he knew this was by no means the end. He didn't think he could ever forget the maniacal hatred that had burned in Slytherin's eyes as he swore revenge, as they both strained with all their might against the magic Rowena and Helga had conjured to keep them apart and prevent them from destroying one another._

"_I shall return! My descendants and I shall one day possess this school, and it will be run as it should be, as an institution free from the filthy Muggle blood that now stains its halls! You have seen my back, but never my last, Godric Gryffindor!..."_

_He knew Slytherin meant every word. A man of morals desperately flawed, but who, as long as he'd known him, had yet to break a promise._

_Godric pulled his prized weapon from the recesses of his scarlet cloak._

_Let him come. They would be ready. He would have a legacy of his own to match Slytherin's. _

_Per his instruction, the sword rose into the air; he maneuvered it out of the boat and laid it gently onto the surface of the lake, where it did not sink, but floated peacefully. Passing his wand over it, he spoke incantations into the darkness around him. Slowly the sword began to glow with a golden hue; illuminating the dark water around it as though it were in a golden bath. The rubies shimmered, and the engraved letters of his name on the hilt flickered as the light grew stronger with each and every word. _

_Raising his arms upward, he finished the final spell, and brought his wand slowly down. In time with the movement of his arm, the sword sank in the water, its golden glow growing fainter, smaller, until it was lost to sight in the depths of the lake. _

_For several moments, he simply stood in the darkness, gazing at their beloved castle._

_The sword would find its way back. When the time of battle approached, it would become findable. Those whom the sorting hat chose to continue his legacy would find it. And when the time came for the battle to begin, then the sword itself would choose those who would lead the fight. _

_Until then, it would await the war._

_The Slythindor_

"_Noooo…"_ eleven-year-old Snape moaned (to himself, of course; he would sooner hold a fire-crab without gloves than let Potter overhear him showing any sign of weakness) as Lily jumped down from the sorting stool and waved at him with a smile before hurrying over to join the table sitting at the feet of the imposing lion emblazoned on the banner.

It was exactly what he'd feared would happen; not merely that Lily would be in a different house than him, since he knew he'd be in Slytherin—but he'd _known,_ somehow, deep down, that she was a Gryffindor. It was a gut feeling that, no matter how hard he tried to push it away or swear it away or rationalize it, would always return with a vengeance.

And now his gut had been right.

As the trickle of first-years up to the sorting hat continued and the line of the waiting thinned, Snape tried to ignore the fact that his legs felt like lumpy porridge.

"Potter, James!" announced the hearty voice from the front, belonging to a tremendously plump wizard with an outlandish blond mustache that made Snape want to snigger and retch all at once.

Grimacing, he watched James bound forward, and Slughorn placed the hat on his head. Snape could have sworn he saw the prat wink at his floppy-haired friend already seated at the Gryffindor table before the brim slipped down over his cocky grin.

"_GRYFFINDOR!"_

By this point Snape's fists were balled so tightly at his sides his knuckles were white. It had been bad enough that Lily was in the House with Black, but Potter wasn't worthy to wipe the dust off Lily's wand, let alone be in the same _house_ with her!

_What had she done, to get sorted into a house of bl**** prats!? _Snape thought as James swaggered down the table and attempted to sit beside Lily. Even from where he stood, Snape could see her regard James with the look she might give to a pile of doxy droppings, before she promptly stood and moved down the table to squeeze between two girls, one with a mane of red hair and the other with long brown hair. Snape relished James' abashed expression, as Sirius scooted closer to his best mate.

What seemed like mere seconds later, Slughorn's voice boomed—

"Snape, Severus!"

Snape trudged forward.

_What's the point anymore? _he thought bitterly as he climbed onto the stool. He searched for Lily in the sea of black, knowing just the sight of her would reassure him, but of course his eyes found the very _last _people he wanted to see. Snape only caught sight of James and Sirius smirking at him, before the fabric of the hat slid down over his forehead, and his vision was suddenly obscured in musty-smelling darkness.

A moment passed, then two. Snape waited.

"_Rather an interesting case, you are,"_ came a sudden voice in his ear. He jumped, clenching his hands tighter on the edges of the stool beneath him. _"Yes, indeed. So sure of where you belong, so determined to continue the family legacy. But, I wonder, is that by your own choice, or because you feel you have no choice?"_

"_I see you've been undervalued, underestimated. Embittered. Made a few enemies already, have we?"_

Snape would have bet anything he owned (although truthfully, all his possessions were rather ratty and wouldn't have been heartbreaking to part with) that the hat was smirking.

_Are you playing with me, or what?_ he demanded, but the hat continued as though it hadn't heard him.

"_But enemies are a sign of standing by your principles, boy—whatever those principles may be. The question is, will you allow your resentments to define you, or are you willing to put them aside for the sake of something more important?"_

_What the h*** is _that _supposed to mean!? _Snape thought at the hat.

"_No need to respond, Severus Snape. I think I know the answer. And the answer is…"_

_Can't we get on with it already? _Snape thought. _I _know_ what you're going to s—_

"—_GRYFFINDOR!"_

With that single word, time froze.

Snape sat, blood roaring past his ears in the darkness. He wanted nothing more than to whip the hat off his head, but he was glued to the stool. Surely James must have put some sort of a jinx on him. He was hearing things.

_No. No. No way._

He was so absorbed, he didn't notice that outside the hat, for the first time in the history of the sorting, there was a stunned pause. Then the table on the far right broke out in the customary cheers. Lily leapt up and the glow of her smile diminished the stars on the enchanted ceiling; her giddy shouts of joy could be heard above all the rest.

"_YES!"_

Someone else, in fact, had also leapt up—except that, rather than cheering, the untidy-haired party had yelled in complete and utter disbelief.

"NOOOO!..."

"It's not possible!" Sirius too had jumped up, and was staring at Snape's statue-like figure as Slughorn had to pull the hat off of his head.

James was aghast. "_Him!? _In _Gryffindor!? _The hat's mad! He doesn't belong in this house!"

"James, sit down!" said the boy to James' left, who had introduced himself as Remus Lupin. "Don't make a scene!"

"What's an idiot like him doing in the house of the brave at heart? This has got to be some sort of trick. A joke! A mistake!"

"I know, but you can't keep shouting!" Lupin said, grabbing James' wrist in a feeble attempt to pull him back down.

Slughorn meanwhile put his hand on Snape's back, and by applying a gentle pressure hinted for him to move from the stool so that the sorting could continue. Suddenly Snape felt Lily's hand in his, and the next thing he knew he was being pulled over to the Gryffindor table.

"We're in the same house, Severus! The same house! Oh, I'm so relieved; we'll be in the same common room, and we'll be in lessons together—" Lily was so excited she was practically floating, while Snape plodded beside her, feeling as though his arm were disconnected from the rest of him. There was only a single thought prominent in his mind, a paralyzing fear.

_Father will_kill _me._

The lake never looked so menacing as when one was about to be thrown into it on a raw February morning.

"_Hey, Snivellus!"_

_Snape plunged his hand into his robes for his wand, wheeling round._

Oh, d***! Not them, now now!—

_But James had been faster; no sooner had he pulled out his wand than it soared out of his hand, and he found himself helpless and face to face with James and his gang._

"_How's your cold, Snivelly?" Sirius grinned from James' right, tossing Snape's wand to himself. _

_James laughed, his breath fogging his wire-rimmed spectacles._

"_Holy Hippogriffs! Snivelly's so hot he's smoking at the ears! I think he needs to cool down, don't you, Sirius?"_

_Sirius smiled._

"_Definitely, James. Cruralapsi!"_

He struggled against Sirius's grip, which he might have been able to break free from but for the Jelly-legs jinx still operating on him. Cursing them at the top of his voice, Snape looked out at the floes of ice still drifting in the lake, knowing what they were planning to do. Vengeance for yesterday morning, when he had bewitched snowballs to assault Sirius and James in their beds—and their two wimpy friends, for that matter.

Sharing a dormitory for a semester hadn't lessened their enmity one jot.

"Don't worry, Snivelly. I'm sure it won't be _that_ cold!"

Snape thrust himself forward. If only he knew how to perform any of the curses he'd seen his father use on his mother countless times, James would be flailing like an upended beetle—but his legs were like rubber beneath him; he stumbled, falling to his knees. Sirius held him back.

"_Don't worry, Sev. The effects should wear off in an hour or so. Madam Gaffen said so," Lily had soothed. "Pepperup potion makes everyone smoke at the ears like that. Besides, you'd had that cold for, what? A month?"_

Yes, a month, which, needless to say, had not gone unnoticed by his enemies. As if his epithet "Snivellus" needed any solidification.

"Ready, mates?" James called, grabbing Snape's arm, "Countdown, 5…4…" Snape struggled with all his might—"3…"—but he felt Peter grab his ankles—"2…"—and suddenly he found himself hovering parallel to the ground. "1—HEAVE!"

Snape only had time for a single instance of pure, abject, midair terror.

The shock of the impact went through him like an icy dagger; all the breath was forced out of him in a single gasp as the coldness punched him in the chest with an iron fist and brought a hailstorm of knives against his flesh. Snape flailed, finally forcing his limbs to stop thrashing around in attempts to ward off the knives and instead propel him to the surface. The shock appeared to have lifted the Jelly-Legs jinx, because his legs obeyed his command to swim. Even underwater, he could hear his enemies' raucous laughter.

Breaking the surface, panting as much from loathing as from the icy water, he could see James, Sirius, and Peter laughing so hard they were practically bent double. Remus was standing awkwardly several feet away, not having joined in the throwing, and looking as though he didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"You'll want this, Snivellus!" Sirius shouted, though barely able to get the words out around gales of laughter, and he threw Snape's wand into the lake after him.

Snape swam after it, hoping for the chance to hit them with a curse they would never get over, but the gang turned and headed up towards the school. Remus lingered a few moments, but finally he turned and followed his friends.

As his fingers closed around the handle of his wand, Snape became aware of the numbness rapidly conquering his extremities. He was about to head for the shore when he happened to glance down, and saw something to take his mind off the intense cold.

A faint golden glow.

Snape stopped. Just as he was considering the possibility that hallucinations might be a symptom of hypothermia, he saw the golden light beneath him begin to fade.

He hesitated only a second longer before he took a deep breath of the frigid air, and dove back beneath the water.

The moment his head dipped beneath the surface, he saw that it was as though the entire bottom of the lake had been painted with a golden luster, but also that the glow was steadily pulling inward, reducing the gold area like an inverse ripple effect. As the golden boundary line swept past him and off deeper into the lake, Snape kicked his numbing limbs into motion, and followed. He was half-convinced he would die in the freezing water, but he didn't care.

_My life isn't really worth living anymore, anyway. Father even said so in his howlers._

_Besides, if I die, Potter and Black will get the blame. They'll be expelled at the very least—hopefully even sent to Azkaban!..._

_Except—I can't hurt Lily like that. She's the only one who'd miss me, but—she's worth living for!_

Countless times, he had to replenish his breath at the surface, but then he hurried to back beneath the water. As the light swept inward faster and faster, the ring growing smaller and smaller, Snape felt the burn in his eleven-year-old limbs, but he strained to keep up, determined not to lose the light; he pushed doggedly onward. Perhaps it was adrenaline brought on by the cold, but although he was getting to the deepest part of the lake and had been swimming for at least 15 solid minutes, he wasn't tiring. His life circumstances had left him with an uncommon amount of endurance.

At last, the entirety of the golden ring was in his field of view, constantly shrinking; suspended in the water over it, he watched, expecting it to shrink into oblivion—but to his surprise, it did not. A ball of golden light remained at what had been the center of the former circle.

Snape swam to the surface. He pointed his wand at his head and, despite the fact that his teeth were chattering like a plastic-wind-up toy, screwed up his concentration.

"_Orbe Coerceo!"_

Despite the fact that they had only covered that incantation in Charms last week, a silvery-blue bubble suddenly blossomed from the tip of Snape's wand, enveloping his head. Hardly daring to believe it had worked, he ducked back beneath the water, took a deep breath of the air his bubble provided, and then dove down, deeper and deeper, watching the little ball of light grow steadily larger—

—and then he realized that it wasn't merely a ball.

His eyes widened. A jeweled sword lay peacefully on the lake bottom, gleaming gently gold in the dark water.

"…it is with great honor and great joy that I announce the discovery of the lost treasure of our founders: the sword of Godric Gryffindor!"

Armando Dippet's announcement was met with deafening cheers and applause from the Gryffindor table as the head of Gryffindor house strode out before the head table, in their hands a scarlet pillow on which the silver weapon gleamed. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were applauding as well; in fact, the only table making no noise at all was the Slytherin table.

And Snape would have given _any_thing to be sitting there silently with them.

He sat hunched over, wanting more than anything to fold up and disappear, but—

"And let us acknowledge the student who, with daring nerve and chivalry unmatched, truly living up to his founder's name—" Snape clenched his jaw, "—recovered this priceless treasure from the depths of the lake, where it had been hidden for centuries—_Severus Snape!_"

More deafening cheers as Snape resignedly rose from his chair to greet the applause.

He glanced down at Lily, seated next to him. Her whole face shone with pride. Snape hurriedly tried to force a smile onto his face. He knew he _should _have been the happiest person in the world—but bitterness and hatred within him were rising in him like floodwaters, choking him. He swallowed convulsively and sat down straight away, even though the clapping didn't die away for well over a minute.

The head of Gryffindor house, after displaying the sword for all to see, carried it away through a side door as Armando Dippet beamed round at the tables.

"Let the feast begin!"

Snape waited thirty seconds or so, muttered a quick lie to Lily about needing to go to the bathroom, and hurried out of the Great Hall. Once in the Entrance Hall, he hastily concealed himself behind a gargoyle.

Before long, around the corner came his head of house. Snape waited, then slipped out from his hiding place, and followed.

He surreptitiously tailed his head on a long winding route through the hallways. It was painstaking, creeping along behind, being careful not to follow too closely or to let his footsteps be heard—but Snape knew that if he stuck with it, his head would lead him to his desired location. He wasn't disappointed.

At last, they stopped before an old stone gargoyle, seemingly just one of many scattered throughout the castle. Snape withdrew once again into the shadows to watch, though he couldn't imagine what he was—

"Redcurrant Rum!"

Snape's eyes jerked wide as the gargoyle sprang to life and jumped aside, revealing an opening in the wall behind and a steep staircase.

_The headmaster's study, _Snape thought. _This _must _be it._

The professor walked inside, and the gargoyle leaped back into place. Snape ducked into a recess in the wall concealed behind a tapestry (which he'd used to hide from James countless times) and continued to wait, mentally reviewing his plan for the thousandth time.

Five minutes later, he heard footsteps as his head of house came back down. He heard the wall sliding closed and the thud of the gargoyle repositioning itself, and the footsteps grew louder, passed right by his tapestry as his head of house swept down the corridor back towards the feast, and then receded.

Snape forced himself to wait a full minute after the footsteps had died away completely. He reminded himself he couldn't take any chances; he had to be absolutely _sure_ he was alone. Interruption might very well mean expulsion.

Finally, he pulled the tapestry back, stepped out into the corridor, and approached the gargoyle. It met his stony gaze with its own.

Snape took a breath.

"Redcurrant Rum."

He fully expected an alarm to sound, people to come running from all sides, wands drawn—but the gargoyle jumped aside for him just as it had for his professor. Hardly daring to believe it had worked, Snape hurried forward, into the opening, and began to climb the stairs.

However, as the entrance sealed itself once again, somebody—in fact, several somebodys—poked their heads around the corner, out of the shadows.

"Did he say _Redcurrant Rum?" _the untidy-haired someone muttered.

"Definitely, James," the other somebody replied.

_Wow._

The circular room was quaint, yet ornate, a fire crackling in the fireplace, a large polished wooden desk standing before him with a comfy leather chair behind it. A wall of windows gave him a full view of the inky black sky outside, peppered with twinkling stars. Bookshelves were built into the walls in between portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts. He recognized most of them from _Hogwarts, a History_—but they were all fast asleep, even though it was early in the evening.

He couldn't imagine that they'd sleep through what he was about to do, but he didn't care.

The sword of Gryffindor was lying comfortably on its pillow, atop the headmaster's desk. Walking up to it, Snape grasped the handle, just as he had done to pull the weapon from the lake. It tingled as though it recognized his touch. He remembered the warmth that had swept through him the instant he first touched it, enabling him to make it back to shore alive in spite of the freezing water.

Looking up, heart racing, he scanned the shelves above the bookcases, and beside a glass case that he presumed would eventually hold the sword, he spotted his target.

He raised his wand and directed it at the old, battered, hated hat.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!"_

The hat floated up off its stand and down to him. Clenching his jaw, he hesitated, but jammed it on his head, and waited.

"_Ah, Severus Snape," _came the voice that had haunted his nightmares in combination with his father's screams of rage and the beatings that he knew would come as soon as he stepped foot off the train in the summer. _"What is the matter?"_

_You know d*** well what's the matter, _Snape thought, his balled fists shaking.

"_Yes, I do know what's the matter."_

_You got it wrong, you bl**** hat! _Snape shouted in his mind, anger erupting in him like flames._ I don't belong in Gryffindor! Whatever you said about putting resentments aside, you're wrong! If anything, putting me in Gryffindor has just created more resentment. Do you know what I've had to endure, what I will endure—!?_

"_Yes, I know. I can see it all," _the hat said in his ear. _"Do not think, Severus Snape, that I put you in Gryffindor ignorant of the fact that you would suffer—"_

_I hate Gryffindors! _Snape screamed in his thoughts. _They're arrogant as h***, they think they own the school, they all think they're the best of the best, the most talented, the best-looking—_

(ignore this line down here. Stupid formatting!)

"—_And yet, _the hat cut in smoothly, _you seem to be thinking of one name only. James Potter isn't every single Gryffindor, Severus Snape. I doubt you would say any of that is true about Miss Evans."_

_I—don't—care! _If Snape had been screaming aloud, the intensity would have shredded his throat. _I don't care who _you_ think I am! I know who I am, and I'm a Sytherin! Change it! Put it right! Put me in Slytherin!_

"_I cannot do that, Severus Snape. Even if I could, I would not. I put you where you belong."_

About to boil over with rage, Snape reached up and grasped the hat to whip it off his head, but he stopped at the hat's next words.

"_Nonetheless, do not think it is up to me to choose who you become. You are a Gryffindor, yet you may still choose to follow a Slytherin's path. However, I notice you have not chosen to fall prey to the arrogance you see. Your friendship with Miss Evans shows that, despite your bitterness, you have a good heart. Even now, what you plan to do to me is courageous. Vengeful, and perhaps idiotic, but courageous. Would you despair of who you know you are in favor of a different path?" _

Snape paused, his heart thundering in his chest.

"_I am never wrong about where I put someone, Severus Sn—"_

Suddenly, from outside the hat a cry sounded through the room—

"_Wingardium Leviosa!"_

The hat was plucked off of Snape's head midsentence and it soared into the air; Snape turned to see the hat floating up and over to the very someone he would rather have stuck pins in his eyes than see at that moment.

"Snivellus is being very naughty," James stood in the doorway, flanked by Sirius and Peter. He wasn't grinning. "Sneaking into the headmaster's office!"

Snape froze. How did—"

"Couldn't bear to let go of your fabulous treasure, could you?" James interrupted. He gestured to the sword in Snape's hand, then tutted mockingly. "You'll be in _big_ trouble!"

Snape sneered derisively, the blood rushing past his ears. "Speaking of which, I hope you all enjy your month of detention for throwing me into that lake. Although I really should thank you. I would never have found the sword if it weren't for you all!"

"Enjoying your fifteen minutes of fame, Snivelly?" Sirius snickered.

"What do you care whether _I'm _enjoying it?" Snape jeered, trying to sound lighthearted, but his voice was shaking. He could feel hatred rising in him like molten lava. "_You're _the ones who would give anything to be in my place. As if your swollen heads could handle any further inflation."

_Just like all Gryffindors._

Sirius raised his wand, but James put his hand on his arm to hold him off.

"What do you want with _this_, though?" James held up the Sorting Hat. "Thinking about switching it up, aiming for a collectible in each of the houses?"

For a moment, they just stared at one another, boring holes into each other with a loathing stare.

_If only I could._

And then Snape could hold it no longer.

Not even fully aware of what he was doing, he suddenly flew at his enemy with a piercing scream of rage, raising the sword above his head with every intention to strike. For once, James had no time for his wand. Snape saw terror stab across his face at the sight of the tables turned, the weakling he had tormented for so long demented with rage, bearing down on him, about to become a murderer.

As he brought the gleaming sword down in a flash of silver, as the portraits yelled, James flung up his hands with the sorting hat still in them and braced himself for the blow.

But it wasn't necessarily _James_ that Snape was aiming for.

As though in slow motion, Snape drove the glittering weapon forward, down and into the sorting hat. It sank further past the brim; he kept pushing—but no satisfactory ripping sound accompanied the deed. Partially from shock, partially from the sheer momentum, Snape let go of the handle—

—and then the sword was gone in the recesses of the fabric. Gone.

For several moments, they all just stood in stunned silence, gaping. Then Snape wrenched the hat out of James' grip and reached down into it, but all his fingers found was the fabric of the point. No cold metal, no rubies. Nothing but air.

"Where'd it go?" Sirius demanded. Snape had no reply, but his silence spoke volumes.

"_Merlin's beard," _James finally whispered.

Eventually, Sirius magicked the hat back up onto the shelf, and all at once the three turned and left the office. Upon arriving at the portrait hole, they exchanged glances that, for the first time in their living memories, were not tainted by loathing or derision. And then and there they made an unspoken pact that the events that had transpired would not leave the headmaster's office.

Years later, Harry never knew at the time how the sorting hat came to give him the sword in his fight with the Basilisk. At the time, he never knew why, after following the silver doe, he found the sword in the frozen lake. He never knew the teacher he despised, a self-proclaimed Slytherin, was a key player of the legacy of Godric Gryffindor. He never dreamed Snape had undergone the very same dilemma regarding uncertainty about just where he belonged, and that though it appeared he had chosen the Slytherin's path, he was a Gryffindor at heart.

_**THE END**_


End file.
